


I'm With You

by RedundantHarpoons



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, The H to C Ratio Is Very Very High
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-02
Updated: 2018-12-02
Packaged: 2019-09-05 15:14:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,994
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16813198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedundantHarpoons/pseuds/RedundantHarpoons
Summary: It is a field medic's duty, among many others, to see to the fallen.





	I'm With You

The calm before the storm.

It was nothing like the calm that set in after a pitched battle. What awaited the victorious forces? Rubble, disarray, and the dying strewn across the field. Even that chaos had gone now. The absolute chaos of the morning had faded to a distant, horrific memory and all that remained was an eerie, sickening quiet.

Not silence, but a quiet which echoed with the clatter of stones as they fell from debris piles, the occasional screech of buckling supports and the intermittent caw of carrion birds brave enough to come back, looking for what the recovery medics had left behind.

They were not the only hunters flying high over the battlefield, scanning throughout for what the chaos had wrought.

Tendrils of smoke rose from small fires which still burned across the alleyway, and Angela’s heels clacked loudly as she touched down on the broken cobblestone of the godforsaken back alley. The broken figure propped against the wall let out a hacking cough as she turned her head upward to greet Angela with a sardonic smile.

“ _Our guardian angel_ ,” Moira hacked and writhed, but put up no fight as Angela knelt quickly by her side, pushing the older woman’s twisted, discolored hand away.

“ _Scheisse,_ ” Angela muttered, wasting no time on such worthless acts as greetings as she surveyed the mess of an injury. Extensive damage to her viscera, and whatever Moira had done to repair herself had been too little, too late.

If only she’d found her sooner. If only Angela had seen precisely where she’d fallen, not simply heard the anguished cry that still rung in her ears now. If only Moira hadn’t holed herself up in this darkened alley, away from the searchers. If only she’d found her sooner.

“You shouldn’t have been here,” Angela muttered angrily, already unpacking what few supplies remained in her field kit. The Caduceus had been damaged in the final clash, and what else she had on hand had long been spent on those they’d managed to pull from the field first. She had no nanite injections, no FastAct instant-cauterizers, no zip sutures . . .

“Nor you, Mercy,” Moira sighed painfully, her eyes never leaving Angela’s worried face, “I was under the impression that all Overwatch activities were outlawed. And you had always been such a _good girl,_ ” she scoffed, letting her head tilt back to rest on what remained of her broken backpack as she breathed to the sky, “And now look at how far we’ve fallen, you and I.” When she coughed, a worrying pink mist puffed from her pale, parted lips.

What was there to be said? Overwatch, Blackwatch, Talon, Oasis, Zurich. None of those things were here, in this blasted-out backstreet. Right now they were nothing.

“You have severe abdominal trauma, hemorrhaging,” Angela chose not to estimate just how much blood had pooled between the cracks of the cobblestones, “Lacerations all across the upper GI tract, and one of your lungs seems to have collapsed,” She gave an incredulous huff, “It’s a wonder you’ve lasted long enough for me to find you.”

“Mmmm, the wonders science has wrought,” Moira murmured, her gaze listing toward a sickly yellow liquid gathered around the remnants of her backpack.

“I can keep you stable for some time, perhaps an hour,” She explained quickly, pushing the words out before she had to consider the weight of them.

“Is that an appropriate use of Overwatch’s _limited resources,_ Mercy? Aiding and abetting the enemy?”

Angela only scoffed, “What supplies? You hid yourself so well I’ve run out now that I’ve finally found you,” and at that Moira smiled that endearing smile, but Angela couldn’t return it as Moira licked away a small trickle of red from her lips. Angela only administered one of the few injectables she still had, “For the pain. Now lie still and be quiet. I’ll be with you until the evac arrives.”

And then what? Angela certainly couldn’t release her back to Talon, not that Winston or the others would allow it even if she wished, and Overwatch had no authority of its own to arrest her. What would happen once the med-evac arrived and whisked them away to safety?

It didn’t matter, not right now. Right now there was only silence. Silence mixed with pained, heavy breathing broken intermittently by coughing and bloody sputtering and quiet, comforting shushes from Angela.

“The last time I saw you,” Moira’s smile was as pained as her breaths, “You told me to go to hell.” Her chuckle lasted only a moment before it became a hacking cough that bent her forward, earning a painful wince as Angela pushed her back to rest.

There was nothing to say to it. It was true, but it was years gone and a lifetime away, and Angela only frowned as she scanned the skies above them. The scavengers were back, circling. No evac yet.

“Do you think I will?” Moira whispered quietly, her own unfocused gaze taking in the birds as well, her thoughts clearly a world away, perhaps another realm, “Is that what awaits me?”

Angela huffed, turning again to dab at the oozing wounds surrounding her fingers as she pressed gauze into the greatest damage. She frowned, “Perhaps in a few more decades, but not today.”

Moira thought for a moment, then shook her head slowly, “You can’t fix this, Mercy.”

“No,” the medic sighed, “But I’ve bought us some time until help arrives.”

“Hmm.” Moira rested her head again against the rigging of her backpack, closing her eyes. If her breathing were not so loud and so labored, so erratic and filled with small coughs and hacks, Angela would have worried she’d gone. But Moira only sat pensively for some time, before whispering quietly, her tone absolute resignation, “I never wanted to hurt anyone, Angela.”

Angela frowned, sighing quietly as she turned her eyes again to the sky, the empty sky.

“I didn’t want money,” Moira continued shakily, pausing for a cough, “I didn’t want to be famous,” She lifted a shaky hand from her side, tracing one of Angela’s wingtips and leaving behind a smear of red, “. . . or a hero.”

When her hand fell again it sent small pebbles into the pooled, congealing blood beneath her, but she only threw her head back, looking once more to the clear blue sky, “I just wanted to help, to learn. I wanted to know. For us _all_ to _know._ I just wanted to help . . . _everyone_.”

Angela couldn’t help but smile softly as she whispered a sad, “I know.”

“I’m not a bad person,” she insisted. Moira shut her eyes tightly, a tear trickling a clean line through the dust covering her face.

“I know,” Angela responded, so quiet it was barely heard over the laborious wheezing of the woman beside her.

There was little Angela could do save wait and keep Moira conscious, splitting her attention between pointlessly dabbing at small scrapes and scanning the sky for support. She listened attentively to Moira’s unsteady breaths, her wet and sputtering coughs finished by choking gasps, and she wiped the blood from Moira’s lips after each one. All the while, Moira said nothing, and when she grew still, Angela frowned.

“No,” Angela’s command was more pleading than stern as she cupped her hand against a cool, pale cheek and turned Moira’s face toward hers, “Just hold on, I’ve got you.”

Moira coughed a bit, and opened her eyes with a sad smile that Angela nearly missed as she scanned the horizon again.

“ _Verdammt,_ where _are_ they _?”_ She worried at her lip as she took in the crows circling above.

“They’re not coming,” Moira explained quietly, calmly.

“Always such a pessimist,” Angela teased, hoping to deflect the fear the very idea put in her, and she smiled comfortingly as she turned her attention back to Moira, “I saw you fall, I knew you were out here somewhere. I have already called for med-evac, and they’ll be able to find my position by satellite. They’ll take us to staging and we’ll patch you up, and the dropship will be here in a few hours,” She scowled up to the sky once more, muttering quietly, “Just hold on.”

Moira cleared her throat and gave a sickly wet swallow, “It is an unfortunate truth that pessimism and realism go hand in hand, darling,” she fixed Angela with a pained grin that did nothing to put Angela at ease, “No one is coming, certainly not in time to make a difference in the matter.” She paused, taking in Angela’s doubt before she gave the slightest of shrugs, a gesture of apology, “We’ve been rerouting your communications and jamming your signals.”

She was quiet long enough to let the reality sink into Angela’s soul before she finished again in a resigned repetition, “No one is coming.”

Angela was cold, and something inside her sunk deep, and she couldn’t keep watching Moira smile up at her. It was easier to look down, to watch Moira’s blood seep into the dirt and stone, to flow between Angela’s pressing fingers, than it was to meet Moira’s somber gaze.

How many more times did she scan the horizon as the birds turned round and round above? How many times did she shout and scream hoping someone, anyone might hear her and bring help?

“ _Scheisse,”_ Angela muttered quietly as her shoulders finally fell.

When her parents were taken from her, when Moira had gone, when Overwatch had fallen apart . . . never had she felt this desperate, this powerless, this weak.

If Moira felt it, she didn’t show it, and she simply watched Angela look anywhere else but her. When she finally found the energy to speak again, she took a slow, stuttering breath before donning a kind smile, “At least,” her words came out in a heavy, contented sigh, “. . . it ends like this.”

Angela scoffed, looking to the sky this time only to fight back the tears, “Lost in a back alley in a pile of rubble?”

“No,” Moira waited until Angela had finally met her eyes before lifting her hand to cover Angela’s where she pressed against Moira. She curled her fingers weakly over Angela’s, “Like this.”

Angela clenched her teeth hard, fighting whatever noise was wrenching its way up her throat as she turned away again, feeling Moira’s eyes follow her.

There was nothing she could say that would make it okay, any of it. Not what had happened, not what was happening, not . . . what was about to happen. And so she sat in silence, feeling Moira’s weak, cold hand over her own.

“They say,” Moira’s soft, shaky words finally pulled her attention back, but Moira wasn’t looking at her any longer, her eyes to the sky as she spoke wistfully, “that angels rejoice most for a lost soul who repents,” She was smiling again to Angela, meek and imploring, “Do you suppose they might let me in after all, _a rúnsearc_?”

To smile was painful, and Angela winced only to hold back a sob as she nodded tearfully, a quiet whisper, “Of course, Moira.”

If it were painful for Moira to do so, she didn’t let it show, and she smiled gladly up at Angela, “Good,” she squeezed Angela’s hand beneath hers weakly, “Then I’ll wait for you there.”

Angela could say nothing, do nothing, and she just pushed her thumb across Moira’s tear-stained cheek as Moira let her head fall back once more, taking in the clear heavens above.

After a time, Moira licked her lips before husking, “It would seem that today is looking up.”

Angela’s heart leapt, and she too turned her eyes to the sky certain she’d see the little hover crafts descending upon them, but all that greeted her were lurking birds, perched ominously on the rooftops above, watching. Waiting.

Angela looked down, uncertain.

“I’ll see you again,” Moira turned to her then, smiling softly, “And when I do, I won’t waste our second chance.”

**Author's Note:**

> I think it's interesting to include that when I envision this particular exchange I pair it with the idea that Angela's nanites actually make her effectively immortal (heroes never die!) and so she knows that she will never see Moira again, but she can't bear to tell her that, so she let's Moira die with hope they'll see eachother again in the afterlife, all the while knowing that they'll never be reunited.
> 
> I wanted to just leave the story here as it is, but I thought I'd include this aspect in the notes for those who want that knife twisted just a bit more.


End file.
